


Ineffable

by MelayneSeahawk



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: Aziraphale/Crowley, the first day of the rest of their lives</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ineffable

After lunch, Crowley was at a bit of a loss for what to do with himself. The last few days had been very...intense, and it was all only just catching up with him. From Aziraphale's slightly dumbfounded expression over dessert, Crowley thought he might not be the only one processing. "Care for a drink?" Crowley suggested. "Or tea or something? We could go to mine, see if the kettle works."

"We just ate," Aziraphale said, and Crowley was reminded that of the two of them, he had always been the better adjusted to social niceties as well as changing fashion and music styles. Then meaning seemed to dawn on Aziraphale, because he said, "Oh, you just don't want to go back to your empty flat and ponder the sudden uselessness of your existence."

"Very optimistic of you, angel," Crowley grumbled, but Aziraphale followed him out of the restaurant and slid into the passenger seat of the Bentley. Crowley ignored the cassette tapes--who knows what they've become, in this new world they're now living in--and drove sedately (for him, anyway), to his chic, unlived-in flat. Aziraphale looked around curiously while Crowley shuffled around in the kitchen in a remarkably domestic manner, and Crowley realized that Aziraphale has never been inside this flat. Previous flats and houses and things, yes, but not this one.

"You have very nice plants," Aziraphale called over the sound of the kettle, which does not so much whistle as sigh as if it is waiting for Crowley to pour the hot water, and it has better things to do after. "Very...healthy."

"It's all in how you talk to them," Crowley said, measuring out milk and sugar and reentering the living room with two perfectly coordinated mugs in hand. "I have a method."

"I see," Aziraphale said, and Crowley smirked slightly, knowing he didn't. They sat on the couch, which was very stylish but not very comfortable, both holding their cups of tea in both hands, looking straight ahead. "I wonder if...all this changes our arrangement," Aziraphale said finally, after a long, almost uncomfortable silence.

"I don't see why not," Crowley said, considering taking a sip of his tea and deciding against it. "Like I said, it's still Us against You, at least for the time being."

"Do you think They even realize we're still around down here?" Aziraphale asked mildly, but there was something beneath the words. "What with all the confusion and the paperwork. There is paperwork on your side, right?"

"Reams of it," Crowley said with a shiver. "I'm sure they'll come around to us eventually. We're probably not high on the priority list," he admitted, though his well-cultivated pride hated it.

Aziraphale put his mug down on the spotless glass coffee table and wrapped his hands around each other, placing them on his knees. "I was thinking of taking a few days off, then. Bringing goodness into the world and saving souls is tiring sometimes."

"Truce, then?" Crowley said, putting down his own mug and offering Aziraphale his hand. "We both let the world go on by itself for, say, a week? Or until one of us hears from our Superiors?"

"That's acceptable," Aziraphale said, taking Crowley's hand in a firm shake. Oddly, Crowley felt a sensation similar to a bolt of electricity race up his arm, though he knew that was impossible. He realized suddenly that Aziraphale was very close, his knee against Crowley's and his face only inches away. Before he could wonder at how, exactly, that had occurred, Aziraphale was suddenly much closer, and then their mouths were pressed together, in a gesture Crowley had never before experienced but knew to be a kiss.

It went on for a long time, and it felt good, like excellent food or a good decade's sleep. Then Crowley had a thought, and he pulled back. "Does this mean I'm corrupting an angel?" he asked, and his tone was light despite the actual seriousness of his question.

"Does it count as corrupting if I started it?" Aziraphale asked, a small smile on his face that caused a rather fetching dimple to form in one cheek. "And besides, what keeps it from being me purifying you?"

"I don't think sex works that way," Crowley said. "At least, not the way I usually see it."

"Is that what we're doing?" Aziraphale countered, his fingers stroking over Crowley's neck like it was fine silk, or a particularly interesting rare book. "Having sex?"

"Well, not yet, obviously," Crowley said. But parts of him that he'd assumed were ornamental had begun to respond in a very human way.

"But you would not be averse?"

Crowley's only logical course of action at that point was to push Aziraphale back into the corner of the uncomfortable couch and kiss him some more, this time with a little tongue. Aziraphale appeared to approve enthusiastically, if the noises he was making and his hands untucking Crowley's shirt were anything to go by. Crowley began to return the favor, though he found kissing and wrestling with Aziraphale's clothing to be to complicated to do at the same time. "How do humans do this all at once?" Crowley complained, none-too-gently pulling Aziraphale's sweater vest and Oxford over his head.

"Practice, I would assume," was the reply, as well as a trail of kisses from Crowley's jaw to the base of his neck. Crowley made a sound similar to but entirely unlike a sigh. "I believe we can be considered enthusiastic amateurs."

"Shut up, angel," Crowley said, and then realized there was a better way and occupied Aziraphale's mouth with his own. They managed to untangle themselves from their clothes without any more incident than a spilled mug of tea, and then they were naked, Aziraphale's long, slightly soft body protecting Crowley from the harsh lines of the couch. He raised himself on one elbow and looked his fill. Aziraphale looked like any number of Renaissance depictions of angels, but then Crowley supposed that made sense.

"As much as I hate admitting not knowing things," Crowley said. "This is usually the part where I let them get to it on their own."

"I believe the phrase is 'do what feels good'," Aziraphale said. Then he did something with his legs that let him press his hips up into Crowley's, and they both let out a surprised groan.

"And where in Heaven did you learn that?" Crowley asked, suddenly breathless.

"I read," Aziraphale said primly, which was pretty funny to Crowley considering that Aziraphale was naked and obviously aroused. "I think you will appreciate my findings," he said, pressing up again.

"True," Crowley said, the sound a little strangled. Crowley tried a move of his own, pressing down, grinning when Aziraphale let all his breath out in a rush.

They continued on like that--Crowley was sure there was a word for what they were doing, but he could be buggered (heh) if he could remember what it was. Then there was a sudden flash of sensation and then everything was very sticky.

Aziraphale was smiling beatifically, and Crowley couldn't help smiling back. "Maybe things have changed," Aziraphale said, sweat-dampened fingers push Crowley's hair off his forehead.

Crowley tried to be as haughty as he could. "I think we can make do."


End file.
